Page 82 of Corpse Roads

“Pineapple juice.”

“I have no idea what that is, but I like it.”

His smile is toe-curling. Enzo loves pleasing me as much as Leighton enjoys teaching me new things. I watch him sip his steaming mug of coffee and decide to try my own.

Taking two sugars, I dump them in before having a sip. The richness of coffee beans clings to my tongue, offset by sweetness.

“This is good too. It’s kinda strong, though.”

“That’s the point. It kicks your ass in the morning.”

“Then why does Hunter drink tea?”

Enzo chuckles around a mouthful. “Because he’s a psychopath, obviously. Who else drinks tea instead of coffee?”

“I really have no idea.”

Drinking some more coffee, I wince and swallow it down. I won’t tell Enzo, but Hunter’s tea is far nicer. I’ll join him as a psychopath if it means I can drink that instead of this sludge.

“So, what about Leighton?” I change the topic.

Enzo rests his chin on his laced fingers. “Leighton was a good kid. He idolised Hunter growing up, but they fought a lot too. Their folks adored Hunter. He was academic and scarily smart in school.”

“Figures.”

“Not much has changed. He still lives a whole fucking level above the rest of us peasants. I can’t pretend to understand his nut-job brain.”

We share a laugh and Enzo takes another sip, studying the pitch-black liquid.

“Leighton was often overlooked. Their dad’s an interesting character. He worked a lot but still piled pressure on his kids to excel. Leighton began to act out and started to get in trouble with the law.”

“How so?”

“Getting into fights, smoking at school. Going to older kids’ parties and drinking. He’s always been a bit of a wild child. It hit Hunter hard when Leighton was sent to prison.”

I nearly drop my cup of coffee. “What now?”

“It’s still a sensitive situation. Leighton’s only been out a few months after serving three years. He’s isolated himself from his family since getting out. Even their folks haven’t seen him yet. They’re devastated.”

Blinking hard, I struggle to keep up. Part of me can’t believe it. Leighton is the warmest, most carefree spirit I’ve ever met. He’s everything that’s good in the world, wrapped up in a soft exterior.

“Have I blown your mind?” Enzo laughs.

“Um, a little bit. Why was he in prison?”

“That’s his story to tell, little one. Though I wouldn’t recommend asking him about it.”

Pushing the coffee aside, I return to the juice. The bitter drink is curdling in my stomach with the realisation that I don’t know these people as well as I thought. I feel awful for never asking before.

“What about you?”

His thick eyebrows furrow. “Me?”

“Tell me something no one else knows.”

He’s clearly stumped as he frowns at his huge hands. The roughened skin over his knuckles is discoloured from layers of scar tissue, painting a violent picture of the gentle giant I know.

“I hate my job,” he suddenly blurts.

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